"

Mrs. O'Halloran went over to the window and opened it. There was a
narrow iron balcony outside. She stepped on to it.

"It's soldiers, my lady," she said. "They're in the square."

"I suppose it must be on account of the war," said Lady Devereux.

She had learned--before Easter, 1916, everybody had learned--to put down
all irregularities to the war. Letters got lost in the post. The price
of sugar rose. Men married unexpectedly, "on account of the war."

"But I don't think they ought to be allowed to shoot in the square," she
added. "It might be dangerous."

It was dangerous. A bullet--it must have passed very close to Mrs.
O'Halloran--buried itself in the wall of the morning room. A moment
later another pierced a mirror which hung over Lady Devereux' writing
table. Mrs. O'Halloran came into the room again and shut the window.

"You'd think now," she said "that them fellows were shooting at the
house."

"I wish you'd go down and tell them to stop," said Lady Devereux. "Of
course I know we ought to do all we can to help the soldiers, such
gallant fellows, suffering so much in this terrible war. Still I do
think they ought to be more careful where they shoot."

Mrs. O'Halloran went quietly down the two flights of stairs which led
from the morning-room to the ground floor of the house. She had no idea
of allowing herself to be hustled into any undignified haste either by
rebels or troops engaged in suppressing the rebellion. When she reached
the bottom of the stairs she stopped. Her attention was held by two
different noises. The Sinn Feiners were battering the door of their
prison with the butts of their rifles. Molly, the kitchenmaid and Lady
Devereux' two other servants were shrieking on the kitchen stairs. Mrs.
O'Halloran dealt with the rebels first. She opened the baize-covered
door and put her mouth to the keyhole of the other.

"Will yous keep quiet or will yous not?" she said. "There's soldiers
outside the house this minute waiting for the chance to shoot you, and
they'll do it, too, if you don't sit down and behave yourselves. Maybe
it's that you want. If it is you're going the right way about getting
it. But if you've any notion of going home to your mothers with your
skins whole you'll stay peaceable where you are. Can you not hear the
guns?"

The three rebels stopped battering the door and listened. The rifle fire
began to slacken. No more than an occasional shot was to be heard. The
fighting ha